


there's nothing in my heart, there's nothing in my lungs

by januarywren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Female Character, Cunnilingus, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Face-Fucking, Forced Bonding, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internal Conflict, Internalized Misogyny, Jealousy, King's Landing, Lesbian Sex, Loss of Control, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Master/Pet, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Minor Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Orgasm Denial, Orgy, POV Cersei Lannister, Past Infidelity, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Period-Typical Sexism, Pet Names, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Queen Cersei Lannister, Rape/Non-con Elements, Resentment, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, S&M, Sansa Stark Deserves Better, Sansa Stark-centric, Sexual Slavery, Smut, Strap-Ons, The Red Keep (ASoIaF), Threesome - F/F/F, Touch-Starved, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, Unhappy Ending, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: “Won’t you try some Dornish wine?” Cersei cooed, while cupping her pet’s cheek, “It’s very sweet – almost as sweet as you, Little Dove.”(How pretty her lies could be.)Brilliantly blue eyes rose to meet hers, though her pet stayed silent still.Sansa had become better at hiding her emotions, though she couldn't hide her trembling fingers or the tears that often slipped down her cheeks. Her words never failed to sound pretty and true, though Cersei heard differently. The girl could hide her thoughts in her embroidery and her prayers, but Cersei knew she hated every one of the Lannisters and dreamed of the North still.(‘Let them go,’ Cersei would never allow herself to say, ‘let everything go, Little Dove, except me.’)Canon AU | A wolf becomes enslaved by a lioness.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister & Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister/Other(s), Cersei Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	there's nothing in my heart, there's nothing in my lungs

**Author's Note:**

> ...except you.

“Won’t you try some Dornish wine?” Cersei cooed, while cupping her pet’s cheek, “It’s very sweet – almost as sweet as you, Little Dove.”

( _How pretty her lies could be_.)

Brilliantly blue eyes rose to meet hers, though her pet stayed silent still.

Sansa had become better at hiding her emotions, though she couldn't hide her trembling fingers or the tears that often slipped down her cheeks. Her words never failed to sound pretty and true, though Cersei heard differently. The girl could hide her thoughts in her embroidery and her prayers, but Cersei knew she hated every one of the Lannisters and dreamed of the North still.

(‘ _Let them go,’ Cersei would never allow herself to say, ‘let everything go, Little Dove, except me_.’)

She wasn’t quite a wolf who would snap and snarl, Cersei thought, regardless of how she liked to keep the windows open while she slept, and preferred simple, nearly tasteless meals that were scorned by courtiers and servants alike.

Cersei had _tried_ to break her of that, as she held the girl tight in her lap, feeding her rich food by hand. She purred at the feel of Sansa’s soft lips and greedy strokes of her tongue, and the way her throat rippled when she swallowed. She was fed lemon cakes and berries swallowed by thick cream, and tender bits of meat with dried fruit, and warm rolls with honey drizzled over them, and cheese stuffed inside.

Only her Little Dove had gotten sick later, ruining a tapestry that Cersei had detested, and had spent days in bed, sipping nothing but broth and watered-down wine that she pressed to her lips -

As if she were a child still.

One that licked Cersei’s fingers clean, without using her teeth, as she’d taught her. Cersei demanded nothing but perfection, the same standard that she set for herself. There was little in her life that her brothers exceeded her in, the same as she had known far more than her deceased husband ever had. Sansa knew what would happen if she disobeyed, receiving a sharp pinch or slap in response, that would make her cheeks color and her eyes fill with tears. It was an amusing sight, if only for how silly it was; the North’s former jewel acting as a pet for the King’s Mother.

Still, Cersei was pleased with the progress she’d made, teaching her pet other, more important things. Her Little Dove knew how her mistress liked her; on her knees with her face buried between Cersei’s legs, lapping at her slick cunt. Cersei was rarely gentle with her, as she ground her cunt against her face, and wound her fingers through her hair, tugging her closer still. She knew that she could take more –

She always could.

More beatings, more follies with the Tyrell girl and her grandmother, and more pleasant chirps – Cersei missed little in the months that passed after the Stark girl’s broken engagement. There was no question of her marrying Joffrey, no, she would be better suited to some ridiculous lord in the North, one swathed in matted furs and the smell of sour ale on his breath. He would wed her and bed her and make her bear pup after pup until she expired from it.

Cersei could only imagine in her dreams a man like that wed to Margaery Tyrell.

Perhaps Sansa too dreamed of a northern brute now that the Red Keep and its comely lords had lost their appeal. The thought made Cersei smile, her lips tilting upward as if she watched mummers performing a comedy. She had never imagined that love was a part of marriage – it never was.

Love was the death of ambition, a lesson that even her father was forced to learn. She would never allow love to rule as _her_ master, not as she clung to ambition, and it never failed her. Her Little Dove had learned her place as she became a woman, hadn’t she? For there was nothing in her future that would come to her from the North and its men – everything that she had, and everything that she would never have was because of the Lannisters alone.

“ _Your brother won’t come for you_ ,” Cersei told her once, as gently as she would anything else, “ _Nor will he trade for you, Little Dove, no matter how your mother might beg him_ _to_.”

She was only a girl, one that was bound to a Lannister then.

Her pet had said little in response, uttering empty platitudes that made Cersei want to take her over her knee, and spank her, if only to make her feel. She wanted to see her talons and her wings as they spread, the same as she wanted to hear Sansa cry, as she clipped them once more. There were no dreams that her pet could cherish nor dreams that she could escape to, without Cersei allowing her to. 

For Sansa, the former princess of the North was the same as any serving girl when she was on her hands and her knees, shamelessly serving her queen, or her tittering, watchful ladies. Cersei was never one to share, but it had been apart of her pet’s training; as she was bound with to the posters of her bed, by silk ribbons.

The sight her pet made was one Cersei delighted in remembering, as one of her ladies in waiting rode her face as she would a horse; firmly and without rest, forcing Sansa to suckle and lap away at her cunt, if she wanted her release. She had to learn to please, using the flat of her tongue to lick in long, fluid strokes instead of plunging her tongue between her attendant’s folds, as clumsily as any man would.

Nor was Sansa ignored, as another, married and more experienced lady in waiting drove a phallic instrument in and out of her weeping cunt, with great care for how much force she used. She brought the girl to the edge of release using deep, full thrusts before slipping the instrument free, leaving her keening and her cunt tightening about nothing, for a release that would never come. It was torturous bliss, the likes of which Sansa had never known before.

It wasn’t something that her Septa would have taught her, no –

Her cries were muffled as the attendant thrust her fingers inside her, the feel of her wedding ring cold against her fluttering cunt. It wasn’t mercy that drove the attendant to help her, instead edging her further as she pumped her fingers in and out of her at a brutal pace, before thrusting the instrument back inside her.

Her release was a gift that would come when the king’s mother decided, then and only then, would she be allowed to come. Cersei leaned her head back, her eyes fluttering closed as another attendant fondled her breast and slipped her opposite hand down to her cunt. Elizabeth knew how to pleasure her; having been trained by the lady in waiting that taught Sansa then, how the King’s mother liked to be fucked.

“ _Harder_ ,” Cersei murmured, her fingers tangling in the girl’s dark hair. “ _You know how rude it is to tease, Lady Beth_.”

Soon the sound of flesh against flesh and gentle sighs filled the room, while Sansa's cries were muffled by the woman riding her face. The woman's slick seeped from her cunt and trickled down Sansa’s lips, regardless of how much she swallowed. Her lips were stained red, and she was surrounded by the heady, musky smell of her cunt –

( _How could she ever forget it_?)

Nor had she been allowed her release, as Cersei knew that her attendant would know how to stretch Sansa’s tight channel, expertly wielding the glass blown instrument, one that had been imported from Dorne as a gift for her, alongside another blunt instrument that was curved at both ends. When the end was covered with oil, Cersei could push it inside her; while using the other end to take one of her attendants, as if she were a man.

They were gifts that Robert had never known of, the same as he knew nothing of his wife’s proclivities with her ladies in waiting. It was true that no one knew Cersei as her twin did, nor would anyone serve her as Jaime had. Yet there was a sweetness when she crested alongside her attendants, ones that served her, and her alone, that her twin would never understand.

( _Jaime thought the world was a song still when it was nothing of the sort_.)

No one would save Cersei alone, as she reveled in the feel of their greedy tongues and fumbling fingers, and the feel of her pet as she held her close to her breast and urged her to suckle from her. There was nourishment in the milk that ran from her breast and the honeyed nectar that trickled between her thighs, a gift that only she could provide, to whom and when she wished it.

If Cersei believed in the gods, she knew her relationship with her pet would make them roar with laughter. Desire entwined through her ribcage, a desire to hold her pet close, and never let her go. Ever since the little bird had joined the southern court, she had watched and listened to her far more than anyone knew. If she were a loose girl, a silly girl, she would have had her before anyone knew; showing her everything that her son would never be able to give her.

But Sansa wasn’t like Margaery Tyrell.

She was a girl that dreamed of love and affection, a girl that would recoil from what Cersei could give her. She couldn’t love her, no, she never would – she had meant every word when she told her pet to love only her children, though that wasn’t the whole truth. She loved her twin, the other half of her, in a thousand different ways that she would never love another.

Only there were wants and desires that lived inside her, ones that Jaime would never understand, even if she wished him to. Cersei knew that, the same as she knew that her pet wouldn’t understand her desires either, regardless of how she foisted them upon her. Sansa wanted things she would never be able to give her; dreams of Cersei gently braiding her hair and guiding her as a mother would, before seeing her in the arms of a fair-haired prince, one who swore his love, and fidelity to her.

( _Her insides twisted at the thought of Sansa laying beside her husband, with sweet moans falling from her lips_ -)

No, there was nothing of the sort that Cersei could give her – or allow her to have.

For as long as Cersei could remember, she felt fingers stroking her hair, and a chaste kiss to her brow. Her Septa had drawn her close with her touch and her affection; her warmth one that Cersei cherished amidst a brutal household. Her Septa was safe and familiar, the same as her twin was foolish and exciting. There was her Septa and there was Jaime –

_Jaime, Jaime, Jaime_ –

The only man that she had ever wanted, and the only man that she couldn’t have, not in the way that mattered. There were only so many dreams a girl could favor that would last through womanhood, there were only so many nights that she could play pretend. It was the reality that won, the reality of women being safe and there, as cloistered and lovely as the flowers that filled the court gardens. There was no seed that a woman could plant inside her, nor anything they could take, that she wouldn’t give.

It was a world that her pet had come to know, because of her instruction alone.

“ _Your Lady Mother wished for me to look after you_ ,” Cersei whispered, the first time she unlaced her son’s former betrothed ill-fitting gown, exposing the bruises that littered her skin. She knew that her son, her king wanted to ruin the Stark girl, something his grandfather refused to allow and commanded her to prevent, “ _She would still, regardless of what has occurred between our families…wouldn’t she, Little Dove_?”

“ _Y-Yes, Your Grace_ ,” Sansa chirped, trembling as the woman stroked the worst of her bruises left by Ser Meryn. He was a brutish man, one that Cersei had little patience for.

“ _My father wished for you to become the Imp’s wife_ ,” Cersei murmured, brushing her lips against her scarred shoulder blade, “ _He would split you apart with his cock – or his misshapen heirs would. Come now_ ,” she hummed, feeling how the girl tensed. She was too slight, too naïve, too _weak_ in ways Cersei had never been. “ _Any husband you take would expect you to bear his children, little one.”_

_“Please, Your Grace – “_

_“I’m offering you a choice_ ,” she interrupted, allowing the girl’s shift to fall. She was naked before her; a little girl who meant nothing at all, save for the cunt between her legs. She had her moon’s blood and was on the cusp of womanhood, a perfect time to be plucked.

They were all the same, Cersei thought, the noble girls that were raised by their Septa to become sniveling, useless things. Even if they were married to a half-witted prince, they would think of nothing but when their husband would rut between their legs. They never thought of anything more, they never dreamed of anything more.

Lyanna Stark was the same: a silly, foolish girl that became an even sillier, foolish woman.

One that Cersei’s husband once desired beyond reason.

_“I – I don’t understand,”_ Sansa whispered, raising her hands to cover her breasts. She was a chaste girl still, one that Cersei imagined dreamed of her golden-haired prince –

It was a fool’s world that she lived in, one that she wanted to dismantle with every word and action.

Cersei soon covered her hands with her own, pushing them down from her chest. Their gazes met in the gilded mirror, delirious and blue meeting cold silver. _“Am I – Am I to go home? To Winterfell?”_

Cersei smiled; a slow, beautiful smile that had always made her twin hold her closer still. Jaime was one of the few who thought her like steel, unmoving and forever the same as if she were the same woman before her marriage – a woman that she sometimes doubted had existed at all. _"You're here to stay, Little Bird," she murmured, "in the pack of lions, instead of a wolf pack."_

All of Red Keep knew the silly girl would never see the North again.

_“The question is: would you prefer my company or the Imp’s?”_ she continued, slowly, gently as if she were comforting Myrcella after a nightmare, _"My father will allow you to stay with me unless you would prefer Tyrion and his whore – Shae, I believe. Who knows what they’ll make you do?”_

_“A who – lover? He has a lover but – “_

_“But he would marry you? Come now, you must know the nature of men,”_ Cersei laughed, a harsh, pretty sound. It was a lesson that she had learned well, the very first time she had lain beneath her husband, and he rutted between her legs, before calling another woman’s name. _“Tyrion has always had exotic tastes, Little Dove, ever since he murdered our mother. He won’t change them for you.”_

( _Robert never had_.)

Cersei watched the girl's expression change; both knowing what she would say – who she would choose – and they both knew she stepped willingly into her cage. She was the image of her father then, before Ned’s head was displayed outside the Great Sept.

( _What would it have been like, to lay with a Stark, instead_?)

“ _I…I cannot give you anything, Your Grace,”_ Sansa whispered, as the king’s mother knew she would. She doubted the North knew of the pleasure women could find with one another, as they used their every part of themselves in ways that a man never would.

_“Oh, but you can,”_ Cersei replied, in her beautiful, mocking way. 

Cersei showed her a taste of what was to come, as she slid their entwined hands down to her clit, and she drove their fingers inside her. Her cunt was small and unbreeched, her folds clenching tautly about their fingers.

Ned must have been rolling in his grave, while Cersei knew her father would be pleased by Sansa becoming a permanent fixture at the king’s mother’s side. Who would speak for the Stark girl, if her reputation fell apart and her maidenhood was broken?

The girl trembled in her arms, small moans escaping her lips –

Ones of pleasure and ones of pain as Cersei thrust another digit inside her.

It was more than Robert had ever shown her, as he preferred her to take his rights quickly, bending her against the bedpost or the wall, before thrusting inside her. He never had adored her beauty the way others had, nor had he sought her sharp wit –

He wanted nothing but what lay between her legs, and the womb tucked away inside her.

It made her feel nauseous to remember how she’d lain with her legs bolstered by a pillow or cupped her hands against her aching cunt after, to keep his warm seed inside her. A child would keep her safe, she knew, as every noblewoman before her had. Only she had thought, then, that her child needed to belong to her husband and not another, whose seed she craved far more.

It was a lesson she knew Sansa would have never learned, had she taken Joffrey as her husband, her king, the same as she knew her son’s rose drew everyone to her, princes, guards, and courtiers alike.

( _Who would she draw into her bed? Whose seed would take root within her?_ )

Before long, Sansa came with her name on her lips, and release trickling down her thighs. It was nothing like she had ever known before, her knees growing weak, and pink staining her cheeks.

( _Cersei wasn’t kind like Tyrion would be, in his half-hearted and hapless way, nor was she as cruel as her father would, had he been in her stead_. _Both would have bred her Little Dove without thought until she gave them a son_. _And then?)_

She would have been nothing to them.

She _was_ nothing to them, a truth proved, over and over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.carrd.co/ 🌹
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Kitsfics and MetalVenomLudens! Thank you, thank you, thank you! 🦝🖤


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